


Dear Fallen Angel

by Architect_Avian



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Gen, Horror, One Shot, Spot the cameo, Verse Saga, identity crisis, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27549619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Architect_Avian/pseuds/Architect_Avian
Summary: To be only a mind lost in a vast emptiness was it's own hell, as he awaited the reaper to finish them off. It was still purgatory. When Verse exploded, it was an unwanted door that was suddenly opened and hell spat many of those lost in that purgatory out. Krizalid was no exception.Escaping death's grasp, Krizalid found himself in the world of the living with no direction and no reason. He returned with no one there to guide his moves, and a nagging thought that was tempting him back into insanity. When a young girl living in a derelict apartment building shows him just a little bit of kindness he realizes there's something left for him in this world and he'll find that purpose for this new life.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Dear Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> It's been at least 10 years since I've written anything KoF. Anyway, I'm a huge fan of the NESTS saga and have been on this idea on how to integrate Krizalid back into the game (I mean if Orochi and Ash can make a comeback. >.>; ) So I've been trying to wrack my brain om how he could rejoin the cast and thus this oneshot of a fanfic was born, with a side order of spot the cameo! 
> 
> This fic also served as a practice for me in description writing and just a new writing style. 
> 
> With that said...Enjoy! :D

K’ was unmoving when Verse had appeared. He certainly questioned what it was he was looking at, but someone else was taking care of it, and that was good enough for the silver haired teen. From the stands he watched Shun’ei and Kyo defeat the mysterious entity causing it to burst into a stream of colors resembling that of a sunset. Wispy balls of pale light shot in every which way with no real pattern. However that’s not what had suddenly caught the young fighter’s attention. A familiar voice calling out. K’ tilted his head down ever slightly to listen in on what was happening.

The silver haired teen kept an careful ear out, as all the fighters around him broke out in soft murmurs all talking about the same thing. They all mentioned an exclamation that was reaching out to them, that reminded them of someone from their past. For K’ the voice was somber, hollow, as if it was crying out in pain. It had shaken the leather clad fighter, leaving him with an empty feeling. He didn’t wanna think about who it might possibly be. But the words had struck so far deep, it was practicality touching his soul. Something he didn’t even believe he had after the NESTS incidents. 

_“I am the original.”_

That was all it took to send shivers down K’s spine. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he knew who the voice had belonged to. Someone who was just as much a victim as he was. NESTS was a cruel organization that practically tortured the people that worked for them. They had eventually twisted their minds into submission and loyalty for the gain of their own power. Once they had served their purpose, they were expendable. Igniz had little care of what happened to them in the end.

Krizalid was no exception...

Even after all this time he could only muster to tell everyone that he was the original. K’ grimianced lost in thoughts. What a cruel way to go feeling those thoughts. They had no one else to blame but NESTS in the end. That day against Krizalid he had merely walked away not sure what to feel. If he had to recall, that’s when he started wearing sunglasses day and night. They covered his thoughts, his feelings, things he wanted to ignore so he tried to make it so people would ignore them too. He didn’t want people to read those and inquire what he was thinking about, they were troublesome. 

Krizalid died because of his existence. 

K’ lived with that guilt everyday of his life.

****

**~~~***~~~**

_"You sick psychopaths!"_

It was a moment that replayed over and over. His screams to the sky followed by an empty darkness were his last moments in life before ending up in this hellish purgatory. Those last few seconds were all he could see before fading to black and the more he saw it the more he had grown accustomed to the idea he was never anything more than a pawn in NESTS' game of chess.

_"I am the original."_

Those were his constant thoughts. But in this ubiquitous emptiness, his thoughts were all he had. Upon his death he had so many regrets and questions unanswered. What was he exactly? If he had a throat that would be the burning bile constantly trying to eat away at him. 

In that moment another image flashed, the silver haired, leather clad teen that walked out of that facility head held high. For insult to injury he remembered the sunglasses that he had slipped on as he walked out. K' was his name. The infuriating rebel that showed no remorse for the consequences that followed in his wake. But why here and why now would that image of that stain in his life pop up in this empty landscape. 

There it was again, his screams to the sky, the falling rubble, and then the emptiness.

**~~~***~~~**

Krizalid had awoken with a scream that echoed in the empty room that surrounded him. Hastily, he looked around trying to gain his bearings and only ended up feeling extremely dizzy. His body, lethargic and heavy, crashed back down to the old musty mattress he lied upon like a brick falling through the sky. The room however, would not stop spinning. It caused his stomach to churn, and bile to creep up to threaten the back of his throat. What were once thoughts in a void of nothingness was now real. How? Why? There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for anything right now. His body still, confused on how it should be reacting finally gave up, releasing the bubbling mess inside. The silver haired man turned over to his side and dry heaved everything that had built up.

The burning he felt was real, and Krizalid concluded he was in fact alive. But he had to question how. The last moments were still so vivid and ingrained into his brain that it seemed impossible to have a second chance at life. It made him question what exactly were the boundaries of life and death. The thoughts quickly turned to madness, and in turn his breathing became rapid and erratic. Then his heart began to pound against his chest as if it wanted to jump out right then and there. 

When his whole body began to tremble, Krizalid quickly scrambled for the corner of the mattress that met the corner of the room. He huddled into the smallest ball he could make himself bringing his knees to his chest. First NESTS makes him question his whole existence, and now his sense of security was shattered knowing that death still couldn’t keep him in it’s grasp. Everything he knew about human life had been turned upside down and the feeling was completely overwhelming him. First his existence was a lie, and now his grasp on what human life was as well. 

His head throbbed. His body quaked. And the more he thought about all the lies he was ever told, the sicker he got. It was apparent that for him to be alive and being able to think about these things could have been a sign that he could be destined for something even greater than NESTS. He held out his hand in front of him with his palm facing upwards. He furrowed his brows and gave a short grunt focusing on trying to summon even the smallest spark. 

"Guess I'm outta juice. But I guess that's what happens when your power is a clone of a borrowed magic," he told himself, sighing deeply letting his hand listlessly drop to his side. He stayed in that same fetal position for what seemed like hours until every feeling disappeared, leaving only that numbness. It only left him wanting to be back in that endless purgatory. It seemed more blissful than reliving all the lies. 

_“I am the original.”_

He shook his head, trying to get that notion out of his mind. 

Krizalid needed a distraction and decided to finally take the time to observe what was around him, now that everything had stopped spinning. If this was his new hell he might as well get to know it. First the mattress he was sitting on had seen better days. In the corner across from him the first thing he noticed was the spring jutting out of the corner opposite of him, and there were random splotches of grime of some sort. It was gray in color but if he squinted hard enough he could definitely tell it was originally white. Not only was the mattress busted and used, it also carried a questionable smell on top of all that. In the back of his mind, the old mattress was a reflection of himself. 

He too was used, and then thrown out once he has lived out his usefulness. His only job as far as NESTS was concerned was to collect the battle data and activate the clones. Once he had completed his mission, they executed him, everything else afterwards was a blank.

Next came the room. He could tell just by its size and shape it was a small piece to something bigger. He was surrounded by walls made of a dark colored wood, with the panels turned vertically to show off the polished grain. However he could tell from just a glance that these walls hadn't been anywhere near polished in years and where the walls met the floor the moulding at the bottom were missing in a few places. In the wall across from the mattress was a small window, where the bottom panel could be slid up. The top half was boarded up, which meant it was busted, explaining why there was a slight breeze coming from that direction despite the window being closed. In the corner across from him was a small clothes closet that had a couple of brooms that had also seen better days. 

Abandoned. This room was a small apartment that had been abandoned by the owners long ago. But judging by the brooms and that the fact that the room had been fairly clean of dust someone was using this space as a shelter. More than likely a homeless family seeking shelter from the elements. What did that mean for him? Which city's back alley did he end up in? 

"I've never seen anyone with your kind of hair before," spoke a light hearted voice from his right, jarring Krizalid out of thoughts. His red eyes slowly panned over to the direction to find the dark colored door slightly ajar and a small girl standing just in front of it. 

The way she kept her distance meant that she was cautious, waiting for Krizalid to make the slightest move. If his assumptions were correct and she was the derelict that inhabited this place it'd explain her tentative behavior. Her statement however said that she did have a spark of curiosity about him. Very quickly did she learn how to survive the back alleys but youthful innocence kept her wanting. 

He took a moment to inspect the girl by shifting his form around to give her his full attention. Krizalid scooted closer to the middle of the bed but stopped to see if the girl was gonna twitch or run. The silver haired man wanted to give her the chance. He didn’t wanna seem like a threat. But still the girl remained unmoving, like she had experienced this before. Krizalid took the opportunity to move even closer to the edge of the mattress closest to her, being mindful of the loose spring jutting out. Yet still the youngling didn’t move. 

Finally being able to get close enough to inspect her in full, he could see she was a lot worse for wear. Her short brown hair was matted in a couple of places near her left ear, and her face had a couple splotches of dirt that looked like it had been smeared from trying to clean her face. If he had to admit, she still had an adorable look to her. Her nose was tiny and had a flat point, and large brown eyes spoke louder than anything else. A mixed reaction of wonder, and steadfastness, she wasn’t terrified at all at his tall intimidating figure. Her clothes were worn out as well. She was wearing an off white, long sleeved t-shirt, with loose threads springing in every which way at the cuffs. She was also wearing some beige colored shorts that he could tell looked too big on her, as they were very baggy and went half way down her shins. They were also being held up by a makeshift belt of plastic bags tied together. What really caught his attention though was her shoes. They looked almost brand new, bright white with pink trimmings. Couldn’t have been worn any longer than at least a week. He could probably safely assume that they were stolen. 

Silence rang heavy between the two of them, and they were both trying to satisfy their interest in one another. For the girl, she sought signs of hostility out of the older man. For Krizalid, he was trying to find out more about his tiny savior. Finally she sat down on the mattress next to him, either tired of standing or finally realizing Krizalid wasn’t going to attack. “Papa said you would probably be dead by today. You’ve been sleeping for two days.” 

“That’s quite an interesting set of words just to say hello,” inquired Krizalid. However there was a chance he wouldn’t have seen a second chance at life, and would have just been a corpse in the end. He tried to shove the mundane thoughts aside and just keep focus on the young lady sitting next to him. “What’s your name?” 

“Mira,” she answered immediately, keeping her gaze to the floor. 

The older man leaned forward resting his elbows on his thighs and his head in his palms. “You can call me Krizalid. I guess I have you and your Papa to thank for saving my life.”

"How did you end up in this part of Southtown Mister Krizalid?" She asked, still staring down but head lifted in slight curiosity. 

"Southtown." He said to himself. Well there was one question answered. The girl seemed to be lost in her own thoughts whether it was curiosity or just having never really talked to anyone else. He felt he had no reason to lie, but Krizalid wasn't going to mention his morbid existence. The lifestyle that was forced on her was hard enough, he didn't need to give her a reason to be more melancholy. "I'm not quite sure myself. I just woke up, and here I am. It's not much of an answer but it's the truth." 

"Papa and I didn't used to live like this." She started. Krizalid felt like at this point she was just talking about whatever came to mind. For now he'd just let her ramble on. Maybe she's just been needing someone to talk to. "We didn't have a whole lot of money, but we had enough to live in a nice apartment with just us and my brother. Then one day, my brother did something bad that got him in trouble and suddenly stole all our money and gave it to the mafia. And then they gave that money to the man that owns that giant tower in the middle of the city." 

“What happened to your brother?” he asked hesitantly, feeling as if there was a chance he didn’t want to know the answer to that. 

“The mafia killed him,” Mira once again answered very quickly without having to think about it for any length of time. She must have been used to this line of questioning by now. Krizalid once more felt bad for her. NESTS did everyone dirty and he couldn’t help but feel like there were even worse people out there than them. Maybe there was a reason why he was brought back here. Was it for this purpose? “Papa said that the money he stole from us wasn’t enough to pay his debt off so they had him killed.” 

‘Did her father have to give her all the details?’ He thought to himself. Then again, the nature of children and the human race as a whole was to sate their curiosity by questioning everything. More than likely she had probably pestered her father until he finally gave in. 

Southtown, a giant tower in the middle of the city, and a man who controls it; Krizalid pondered on these details. He dare not speak though as he doesn’t know the entire details of that situation, however he remembered the NESTS agents around him frequently talking about the importance of this city and that man. Maybe that’s how he ended up back here, the higher powers that gave him life again threw down here also realizing there’s something important. He looked over at Mira realizing she had gone quiet once more, probably thinking of something else to talk about. 

He noticed she began to tug on the hoodie, that he didn’t even realize he was wearing until now. Krizalid wore a dark blue zip-up hoodie with one of the pockets missing and some frayed cuffs, along with that were a pair of black jeans that were a little tight on his thighs but loosened at the bottom. Lastly, a pair of dark brown boots that had seen some wear, but at least someone tried to clean them up some. “These were the cleanest we had. At least they fit you. You were naked when we found you.”

A small blue of embarrassment crept up on him. How many people probably passed by his buck naked form before Mira and her Papa found him. She said that he’d been unconscious for two days since they found him, however that could have been even longer for all he knew. That didn’t give him a comforting feeling however, it just meant he was haphazardly strewn about in the middle of a busy city for no rhyme or reason. 

First NESTS and now whatever these higher powers were didn’t even want him. The depression crept up on Krizalid once again.

_“I am the original.”_

No he wasn’t. That rumination was an annoyance at this point. 

He let himself focus on Mira right now. Much like his own situation she was thrown here not by her own volition. She was another reflection of himself. To have someone you trust suddenly backstab you and it happened so fast you aren’t given a chance to process or understand it. When he called NESTS psychopaths was his only conclusion to what they could possibly be by yield of their monstrous human experimentation. Their one goal in life was domination of the world by any means possible. Now that Krizalid had time to think on that, it was a pretty lusterless fantasy, lacking any imagination. Probably why K’ betrayed them. Maybe he actually had a grasp of the bigger picture and wanted no part in that. 

Sadly though, he may never get the satisfaction of ever knowing what went through the other man’s head. He barely knew where he was let alone where K’ was, or if he was even still alive. If he remembered anything from their fight was that the silver haired teen was excruciatingly resilient. An enemy to put an end to K’ had to be a fearsome foe, that the mention even shook Krizalid to the core. 

For now he’d push the thoughts of his wayward pseudo-brother off to the side for now, and keep his focus on Mira. “Where is your Papa anyway?” 

Mira shrugged, “He sent me up here to see if you were dead or not and then he left.” Krizalid raised an eyebrow. Why would he traumatize a small child even further by seeing if he was dead? Then again she didn’t seem surprised he was alive either. This girl was hardened by this way of life and understood quickly that there was no time to stop and process what the meaning of death was. She was forced to grow up rather quickly and survive with whatever materials her and her Papa could scrape up, and now they were using what little they had to help him. Krizalid felt as if he was impeding on them.

As soon as he was back on his own two feet, he realized he’d have to leave them so as to not take up a portion of that morsel. It was a saddening thought realizing that Mira was obviously lonely. She struck conversation with him quickly, jumping from one topic to the next stopping only once to ask about Krizalid. To leave her seemed to be like the worst thing he could do, but staying also seemed out of the question as well. Sighing, the older man instinctively placed a hand on the small girl’s head giving it a gentle pat. It was his half way between apologizing, and saying he’s still with her. 

He had only known the girl for a few hours, but just through observation was all he needed to get to know her for a lifetime. For once Krizalid was unsure what to do. He was always just used to one order to the next, never really questioning anything, just always determined to please his superiors with his diligence. Now that there was no one guiding his every move, his every thought, there was a blank slate there. The internal battle between moving on, or helping this family. He owed them a great deal. 

Mira seemed to just go on and on from one topic to the next just talking whatever came to mind. She had spoken about some of her favorite things, such as color, flowers, and mostly cats. She seemed to have such a large smile and extensive energy when talking about them. Now that she was used to Krizalid’s presence she seemed comfortable talking to him. He wasn’t sure why though, but he wasn’t going to interrupt her. She seemed happy at the moment. The silver haired man would let her moment of reprieve. Their chat ended up going long into the evening. 

Krizalid hadn’t noticed it but it was starting to get dark in the room and Mira had scooted closer. Was she afraid? The girl’s eyes looked droopy and heavy. She was getting exhausted.. They had little food, and constantly were trying to fight against whatever life threw at them. He didn’t think about it before, but the two probably lived in a constant state of fatigued. 

“I should see if Papa is back yet,” she said standing on her weary legs. Krizalid looked at her worried that she might collapse, but he let her stand on her own two legs. It was what she had been doing thus far. “Thanks for talking with me Mister Krizalid. This is usually my room, but you can use it. I’ll just sleep in Papa’s bed. Good night.” She carefully opened the door and padded out leaving Krizalid once again alone in the empty room.

**~~~***~~~**

Finally deciding to use his legs for the first time since he had awoken, Krizalid chose the nearest wall to lean on as he watched the sunset finish descending, and watched the night proceed. He was left in a pitch black room with only the light from the nearest light post outside to give any means of illumination. The dark wall around him didn’t help with the contrast, and the dimness was just another presence he allowed to be his company.

He had a slight curiosity about what the streets of Southtown were like. He’d imagined that they were more lively the closer they got inward to the city. With the state of this apartment and for how infrequent he would see a vehicle pass by, he concluded that they were pretty far from out there in the slums. This was mostly likely an old part of town that hadn’t been bothered with and was pretty sure there were more homeless around than just Mira and her father judging by the fading trash can fire that was abandoned on the other side of the street. 

Krizalid looked down at his hand again worried about what he was going to be able to accomplish without his flames. Perhaps he should reach out to see if he could make contact with his predecessor? How would K’ even react to him being alive? There were so many questions that seemingly had no right answer, just more confusion and self-doubt. The more he thought about it the more it made sense to want to reach out and make an attempt. Even if he was rejected, Krizalid knew he’d have some sort of satisfaction knowing he tried.

The silver haired man quickly snapped any attention he had on the window as soon as he heard the sound of a door slamming. He kept his gaze on the door after hearing the sounds of someone rapidly approaching. The footsteps were light, and didn’t leave much echo. He watched Mira burst into the room with tears streaming down her face. With no time to ask questions she ran up to him throwing her arms around Krizalid’s waist. He kneeled down to meet her at eye level. 

She was breathing heavily, probably from the running, and crying her heart out. His eyes widened, horrified seeing that there were droplets of blood splashed across her face. “P--papa!” She cried trying to put together words. Whatever happened had her terrified, and in turn had him slightly stirred as well. “The man…” he said between sniffles and trying to catch her breath. “The one that killed my brother is here!”

“Shit,” was about the only thing he could say in a moment’s hesitation. “Stay close.” he told her. He started quickly running through the scenarios in his head and what he could do to ensure the safety of Mira. He may not have had his fire, but some part of him remembered he could still fight. 

Krizalid’s skin crawled as soon as he caught a glimpse of the invader. He scooped up Mira into his strong arms and held her close. He jumped out the window using his own body to shield her from the glass. He had been staring out that window all day therefore he knew it wasn’t a long fall. He looked back behind him to see that the window next to the one he jumped out of had been painted in blood. Without a doubt the killer murdered her father, and was probably after Mira to ensure the family’s elimination. With the way the girl’s body shook, and how tightly she was gripping his hoodie he didn’t need to think too hard on the fact she was absolutely terrified. 

The hand that was closest to her head reached up and gave the back of it a gentle stroke. Krizalid was trying to reassure her that he’d keep her safe. Keeping a tight grip on the small body he took off in a sprint down the street turning left into the nearest alleyway between two brick structures. He leaned against the wall, and put the girl down safely on her feet to catch his breath. Just what kind of monster wanted to murder an innocent young girl? 

As if on queue, Krizalid felt a chilling presence down his spine. He looked over to catch a cold gaze through bright orange hair draped over the killer’s face. Thanks to his quick reaction time he was able to shove the girl over, but not hard enough to knock her down, to avoid a slashing motion aimed at the two of them. The silver haired man watched in horror as a few strands of his hair fell gracefully to the floor. Krizalid’s heart pounded against his chest. Had he been any slower he or both of them could have been sliced to ribbons. “Run!” he screamed at Mira. He watched her take off like without a moment’s hesitation before he followed suit. Krizalid would do whatever he could to make sure to keep himself between the killer and Mira.

As they created distance between themselves and the killer it gave Krizalid time to think. They were already at the bottom in poverty, and still he came after them. Although he recalled the young girl’s words that the mafia had her brother killed. That meant that this man was probably just here to finish the job, but he and Mira were witnesses and therefore must be silenced as well. Had he been by himself he’d have welcomed death and he would be able to rest easy on the notion that the boundaries between life and death were back in alignment. But Mira was innocent. The young girl he was striving to protect was just a victim in a series of events that went beyond her control. 

Krizalid kept his eye on Mira ahead of him, stopping only once to look behind him to see if their pursuer was still giving chase. Once they were out of the alleyway they came to an open yard surrounded by a chain link fence, underneath an old overpass that looked to once lead into the highway. There were small lamp posts to the east and west side of them that reached just far enough to illuminate the area dimly. They were cornered, and the hitman was approaching them. The older man grabbed the small girl’s hand and ran inward into the arena-like area.

“Mister Krizalid?” she asked tugging on the hoodie to get his attention. “What’s gonna happen?” 

In response Krizalid knelt down to meet her at eye level. She was still shaken with terror, to try and ease her the silver haired man used the sleeve she was tugging at to wipe the now crusted blood off her face. He wasn’t sure how to answer her, as he didn’t know the answer to that question himself. He still has had his reflexes and still remembered how to fight, but since he didn’t have his flames he was even unsure if he had his other abilities anymore either, such as his translocation. Krizalid looked around finding a nearby dumpster in the corner. “Hide! And the moment you get a chance you run as fast as you can. Don’t come back for me.” As painful as it was to say it, this may be the last chance he’ll see Mira. Even though he had just met the girl, she reminded him of an attachment he used to have. 

_“I am the original.”_

There it was again. He shook his head realizing that was still running through his mind. 

However this was not the moment he needed to have that sitting in the back of his head. Once Mira was out of sight he turned around. To see that finally the murderer had caught up to them. In the darkness he could only still catch the glimpse of the bright orange hair of their killer. The way he slowly walked into view told him that the assassin was confident, conniving, but most of all ready. Krizalid took his stance, one arm in front of him defensively and one behind him for quick strikes. It left his chest very exposed but that was the false sense of security he was to lead his enemies to. 

Once Krizalid was in view the killer ran at him at full force aiming another one of those slashing attacks downwards in want to cut the darker skinned male in two. However he didn’t calculate the speed of the man’s attacks from in a narrow corridor versus being out in the open. Although he dodged the killer’s attack he was still clipped in the shoulder. The slice was so clean that the small wound hardly bled. Krizalid hissed in pain, but kept his footing and would counter with his own slashing attack. He sprung upwards, ignoring the pain, and aimed his own attack in the same motion only upwards. He’d end up only getting a few strands of orange hair just like their previous exchange, only vise versa.

Through that small tussle he was able to catch what the killer looked like in full. A tall, thin man with pale skin, and ice cold blue eyes. He wore a black long sleeved crop top that clung to his body that revealed a chiseled torso. His pants also clung snugly to his legs sporting a black and white decor. For a hitman he certainly stood out in his wear. He figured he didn’t care about hiding his appearance if his victims never got to see the light of day.

Krizalid, determined that he and Mira would see the light of tomorrow, went on the offensive. He charged at the killer at full speed grasping him at the waist and throwing him behind him to throw him off balance. With that to his advantage, Krizalid brought his leg up to crash his heel down onto his enemy’s head. The attack sent the man reeling, but he didn’t cry out or hiss in pain. The attacker instead just laughed as if he was enjoying the pain. “Do you fear death?” he asked, slowly rising from his keeling state to a fully standing position. 

The man screeched out in joy taking Krizalid by surprise and the man lashed out. He didn’t think the man was close enough that the attack would hit, but the lash was so powerful that something still sliced him clear in the chest leaving another wound this time it didn’t just sting, it caused Krizalid to howl out in pain with the impact sending him back a few inches. Blood instantly began to soak his hoodie, but still the silver haired man remained standing. “Do I fear death? No, I’ve already been to hell...we didn’t have a mutual understanding,” he joked acknowledging that he had been stuck in purgatory for a very long time. 

Something sparked within him though. It was so instant that he wasn’t sure what had happened but he managed to close the distance on the killer just by gliding across the floor. He had moved just instinctively that it suddenly just happened. He had used translocation, just by thinking about it, and now he was going to use that to his advantage long with his still standing might. He grabbed the killer by the neck with one arm keeping a steady grip on it, and while holding the body out in front of him he moved his powerful legs at the blinding speed. He managed to throw the assassin up against the chain link fence and fired away a barrage of rapid fire punches, with the last blow being a powerful haymaker that sent the hitman through the fence. 

The assassin once again stood up just laughing. Krizalid began to wonder if he was simply too weak from having no body for a long period of time, or was his killer extremely resilient. He seemed to revel in the pain not once has the killer flinched. Just what kind of man was he dealing with and what did it take to stop him. The man once more began walking at him at a brisk pace, with a crooked and wicked smile plastered on his face. The man was confident he had Krizalid on the ropes. He eyed the hitman poised to strike. Once he got close enough, he’d strike once more with another one of his slashing attacks of his own. 

Once the man was in range Krizalid, swung both his arms in a slashing motion to catch him. But where it should have connected the man was seemingly gone. Before he could register about the man’s sudden disappearance the reappeared just as quickly causing a moment of hesitation within the dark skinned male. The assassin brought down both his arms overhead before Krizalid could even react. When he held his arms up to block, he felt both his shoulders get torn through leaving two deep gashes ending down to his stomach clipping his forearms. Had he hadn’t the reaction to block, the killer would have gotten his vitals. 

Krizalid screamed out to the sky feeling deep agony, causing him to lose his footing and fall straight into his back. His entire body felt like it was on fire. If this wasn't confirmation he was alive, he wasn't sure what else could be. Before he could think about anything else he felt the assassin's heel digging into his chest wound, causing Krizalid to howl out more.

With glazed over eyes his gaze slowly panned over to the dumpster where the small girl he was protecting still hid. She was frozen with terror and looked at him with an equally horrified look. This may be the end for both their lives. Krizalid felt a sharp kick to the side causing him to roll on his side, blood building up in his mouth. He kept staring at Mira who cried more and more each time the killer kicked him in the gut. 

_"I am the original."_

Why would that be running through his head at a time like this? The voice was seemingly louder and more commanding. 

Weakly he raised his arm to block the next kick to his gut, catching the killer's foot. The assassin seemed to take that as an insult. Krizalid watched as the man broke out in a sickening gaze, as if disgusted by his attempts to fight back. The assassin wrenched his foot from the grasp of the silver haired man scoffing. He knelt down and took a grasp of Krizalid's hair forcing him to look up at his pale eyes and wicked grin, "I had hoped you'd have put up more of a fight, but it seems you're just like the rest of the dregs of his wrenched city. Is there no worthy opponent?" He asked slamming Krizalid's head into the ground, by grabbing his face with his other hand. 

"My search continues." Said the killer with his grin growing larger. To Krizalid this man was just a sadist who loved torturing people. He reveled in his kills, and the blood he shed. He'll only be satisfied until he is brought down. "You were amusing at best. You at least put up a fight. Farewell." The assassin rose to his full standing position and raised an arm. He'd bring his arm down, initializing another slashing attack to chop Krizalid in two. The silver haired man could only close his eyes and take a deep breath awaiting his death. 

"Krizalid!" Screamed Mira. His eyes instantly snapped open as he watched her break out into a full sprint towards the two of them. The closer she got, time seemingly moved slower. 

_"I am the original."_

The thought was louder and more aggressive. 

Krizalid felt his heart jump and his breath stolen as he watched blood spray from Mira’s small body with droplets hitting him in the face. His eyes widened as his breath once more became erratic, with his mind trying to process what it was he had just witnessed. The young girl Krizalid was striving to protect was now being struck down and her killer had shown no remorse. He shifted his weight, his body still burning from the pain but still...he needed to catch her. 

_“I am the original.”_

The more the events played out in front of him, that ever nagging voice of his thoughts grew even louder. 

The dark skinned man, held his arms out in order to keep the girl’s already lifeless body from fracturing any further from the fall. The murderer’s face had no remorse, just a satisfying grin that one of his targets had bit the dust. Krizalid as soon as he had caught the girl looked into her lifeless eyes. She had given her life to save his and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. He may have had a second chance at life but there was no way in hell she was going to get one. Krizalid had been lucky to receive this gift but for him to have it someone else had to be sacrificed it seemed. That’s what Mira and her father were. They saved him, but at the cost of their own life. 

Krizalid tried to hold it together while holding the corpse of the girl. The world was already against her and this was just salt in the wound. 

_“I am the original.”_

The words were screaming by now. 

_“I am the original.”_

The voice was so tempting by now. It tormented Krizalid to the point of insanity. 

**_“I am the original!”_ **

And yet….

It was right.

He was the clone of K’ this was the unfortunate truth. However, this was his chance to break away from that nightmare.

That’s why death had spat him back out. There was still something he could do, and that was make a life for himself. He didn’t need NESTS or K’. It was just him and him alone. He was just Krizalid. Everything around him was just a reflection of where he was starting. To live a new life, he needed to start from scratch. How to survive, how to claw your way to the surface, most importantly...how to be yourself. For Mira, even though she had been stricken to poverty she hadn’t let her slow her down. He learned in the small time with her that she was still her own person. This was his lesson. If Krizalid was to live, he needed to live by his own rules. He didn’t have NESTS to guide his every motion and it was time to stand on his own two legs. If he couldn’t he’d be stricken down. 

Mira’s death was just a sign of what could have happened to him. He noticed a small locket that hung to the side of her neck. He reached over and opened it to see it had a picture of her and her family. The young girl and the boy next to her, which Krizalid assumed was her brother, were both a reflection of the older man that sat behind them. At least she could now join her family. He removed the locket from her neck and clipped it around his own. This would forever serve as a reminder of why he was able to live. To live on for this girl and her family. They gave their lives for him.

With this silent promise in place, Krizalid vowed to move beyond the shadow of K’, and thus making the flames of Kusanagi his. This was his power. Not K’s, not Kyo’s but his. It was time to send a message to the rest of the world that he stands tall. Krizalid was his own person.

Krizalid gave the girl one last hug ignoring the dripping of blood from her back. He held her body close as the air around him and the assassin suddenly started getting warm despite the cold nighttime air of early spring. Small embers began to scatter around them getting bigger and bigger as it got hotter. This had caught the hitman by surprise, causing him to grin. The darker skinned male had some fight left in him after all. What the orange haired man didn’t expect the bird-like wings made of pure fire to emerge from his back. 

Krizalid reveled in the killer’s horrified face as Mira’s body turned to ash in his arms. It was the least the silver haired man could do to give the girl a proper burial. Once she was just ashes, Krizalid opened the locket and dusted some of the ashes inside. This caused the wings on his back to ignite even further sending forth a small shockwave behind him. Krizalid felt his body burning but this time it was different. Adrenaline coursed through him, causing him to ignore the open wounds. The small embers became large cinders swirling around them both, made only deadlier with the dark backdrop behind them. The entire sandlot they stood upon was illuminated as if Krizalid was a shining beacon in the night. 

“You sick psychopath!” screamed Krizalid, like a man about to go to war. He grabbed the killer’s face before the other man could even react. From the palm in his hand he set an explosion to go off directly in the killer’s. With his immense strength, Krizalid gripped the assassin’s head and smashed it into the ground. “Hell awaits you!” he shouted as the wings on his back burned even brighter and higher, and pale in color borderlining white. Krizalid lit himself and the hitman ablaze in a pillar of fire, and like a laser it went straight through the overpass. 

The assassin was nothing more than a charred corpse. 

**~~~***~~~**

Krizalid jolted awake, on that musty mattress, trembling. The adrenaline had finally worn off and he was just drained. Never before had he ever used that much power but it felt great. But now all that was left over was a dull throb. He couldn’t recall anything that had happened after setting fire to the assassin. He raised a hand to wipe the sweat collected from his brow only to see that both his arms and his entire chest where he had been wounded had been bandaged up.

“Ikaris are onto you. You should leave as soon as you can.” Krizalid looked over to see a silver haired, tall, dark skin kid staring out the window vigilantly. “You caused a stir, they think I caused the incident. So I came here to see who's framing me over here and instead I find you. You can thank my partner for the patch up job.” 

Krizalid had to rub his eyes a few times to get his vision straight to see the words on the kid’s jacket. 

_A Beast of Prey_

He responded with a quiet chuckle. “How’d you find me?” he asked quietly with a raspy voice. 

K’ pointed to the open door to see a small trail of blood droplets leading into the room. “It looks like at some point you figured out how to cauterize your own wounds before passing out.” The younger man leaned against the wall giving Krizalid full attention. “How are you here? Whip shot you point blank in the face, and yet you’re here, mostly, in one piece.” 

Seirah had shot him? Why didn’t he remember that? The only thing he could recall was K’ walking away and NESTS executing him. Everything else was a complete blur. He sighed when he had brought up the woman he thought was his sister. Seeing K’ raise an eyebrow at him he thought it’d be best to leave that conversation for another time. If the Ikaris were after him, it’d probably only be a matter of time before he ran into her anyway. He would ask K’ what he should do, however wasn’t the point was to stand tall on his own? It’d ruin everything and why he returned if he were to ask for his guidance. 

“Brot--” Krizalid paused to think about what he was going to say. 

“Do whatever. Whip and Kula already treat me like I’m their brother.” K’ pushed the sunglasses up onto his face and scoffed. Krizalid couldn’t help but realize this was hard for the other man. He was anti-social as it was and hated all things trivial. But Krizalid felt something seeing as K’ was trying to reach out even if it was just a warning. 

K’ started for the door, his heavy boots echoing in the empty room. He stopped at the partially opened door and caught what looked to be a duffel bag from someone tossing it to him. He threw it to the ground in front of Krizalid. “You’re on your own from here. Good luck...brother.” he said giving a half-hearted wave behind him with his red gloved hand before shutting the door behind him. 

Krizalid shook his head with a small grin on his face. At least the other man was trying to be sentimental in some way. It was flattering, especially since this was K’. He scooted over to the edge of the bed to inspect the bag. There was definitely enough in there to survive on his own to help ease him back into society. But what had really caught his attention was the long black coat with the puffy fur collar. Although putting on the coat reminded him of NESTS and that gave him a somewhat disgusted feeling, he loved the idea of the irony of wearing it not under their banner. Proudly did he put it on, admiring that it was a perfect fit. 

Krizalid picked up the duffel bag and turned towards the old mattress. With the locket around his neck, he had his reminder of where he started, and didn’t want any reason to come back here. With a deep sigh, and some regret he ignited a tiny flame onto the old mattress. He didn’t bother looking back to see if it was going to erupt into an inferno. If it didn’t then he would know that his job was not finished there. 

Once he exited the building however, he felt the heat begin to rise. That’s how he knew his path of redemption was set, and there was no turning back. 

The fallen angel would rise again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this piece! I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. I had been on this drive to want to write something KoF lately, and more so Krizalid. I think setting him on this path of redemption seemed to me the most logical story choice in my mind. From there he could go on to be a kick ass anti-hero or something along those lines I tried to leave the ending open to reader interpretation. Let me know what you guys think!
> 
> Until next time! :D


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